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Are you okay? Such simple, banal words… Yet they could mean so much to someone. For a century, I’ve seen so much pain, so much suffering. Yet rarely has anyone asked if you’re okay.
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That hurts the most. When people expect things from you, yet give nothing in return. Not even a thank you. When you were the oldest of your siblings. When you were the one who calmed them down at night when your father was drunk. Just because he wanted to forget everything. His every past mistake. When your stepmother blamed you for all the evil in the world, just because she saw you as a mistake your father made. A child of light born of goddes and men.
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When you tried to be strong for others. When you bled for them, as you were getting rid of the evil that hauted them. The only thing your real mother gave birth to you for. When you held your siblings’ hands when they crossed over to the other side of life.
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But never once did anyone ask me: Are you okay?
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Like a child, when you’re six. The world is simple, you’re simple. You play with others, you have a lollipop in your hand. And everything’s okay. You’re okay.But when you grow up, you understand that life isn’t a fairy tale. Especially when you’ve lived for hundreds of years. Then happiness is like smoke. Fleeting. And the lollipop? You quickly replace it with a cigarette. To forget, even for a moment. To be human, just for a moment. Because the bitter taste and the smoke in your lungs remind you that you still alive.
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Even though you know you’re not.
You’re a monster.
Child of a goddess whose name has long been forgotten.
Mistakes born of a human.
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It’s then that you begin to understand how much ordinary, are you okay can be worth. When you stand and stare at your own reflection, the one you hate so much. When life is nothing more than just a burden, not a miracle. When you put on a mask every day so everyone thinks everything is fine.
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It’s exhausting… oh, so exhausting. But I can’t let anyone break down my wall. Because centuries of living have taught me that no one likes half-breeds. Besides, I’ll outlive everyone. It’s always been that way.
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That's why love became nothing more than a game. When someone says I love you. I know. I know that they are lying to me. Because even if they don't leave when they find out what I really am. The die eventually. Leaving me behind with sorrow and a heartbreak. It never changes.
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And now? You’re alone. And even though you long for someone to ask you if you’re okay, it won’t happen. Because no one will see your tears. No one will look behind your masks. No one except your cat. even if it brushes against your face and licks your nose. It won’t understand your suffering and pain.
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And it won’t ask you: Are you okay?
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